


My Funny Valentine

by Alyeska_Writes



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, My boys are sad, Valentine's Day, because i'm the CEO of angst thank u, let them be sad, matsuda and misa were best friends and you can fight me if you think otherwise, no beta we die like men, one-sided Amane Misa/Mogi Kanzou, platonic matsumisa, this is just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyeska_Writes/pseuds/Alyeska_Writes
Summary: Maybe one day, they'll be okay. But she left them behind.
Relationships: (one-sided), (platonic), Amane Misa/Matsuda Touta, Amane Misa/Mogi Kanzou





	My Funny Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry in advance for this. Happy Valentine's Day, please don't hate me <3
> 
> ALSO i typically go by the anime's dates because that's what i'm familiar with. sorry if it's confusing!!

**_2014_ **

Matsuda remembers where he was and what he was doing when he heard the news. 

It’d already been rough. Between Near’s bullshit reminder of all that happened a year prior at Yellow Box, and the exhaustive efforts it’d taken just to make it two months into the new year, Matsuda’s been ready to snap. He tries to be cheerful, he does. Ide told him it was about time to get his shit together, and he tried. He tried so hard. 

(But it’s hard to get it together when he lost it in the first place. He doesn’t even know where to start looking. All of those pieces of himself—where did he leave them? At the Warehouse? At Misa’s place, when he told her what happened to Light? Maybe he left them behind when he started on the Kira case. He doesn’t know anymore. Too busy trying to keep hold of the few remaining shards of his deepest self.)

He wakes up late for a Saturday, despite it being eight thirty in the morning; he always has considered any time after seven forty five to be late, and always will. He goes on to spend a good twenty minutes in bed trying to wake up completely, compiling a list of chores he needs to get done, and odds and ends he needs to pick up from the grocery store. The cats need food and he’s out of bread. The bathroom needs cleaned, the litterboxes need emptied. But, he supposes, at least it’s his day off. He takes his time, leisurely goes about his morning routine, which is…strange; usually fancies himself a high-energy person, even on the weekends. Maybe he’s tired.

Maybe it’s something else.

He turns the television on for background noise, as he always does. Doesn’t think much of it, really. To him, it’s an ordinary day. February 15th, 2014. Even when his phone rings out of the blue, he doesn’t think anything of it. Probably, Aizawa needs him to come in. A pain in the ass, but nothing more than that.

“Yeah?”

“Are you watching the news?”

Matsuda glares at his phone for a moment, before realizing that Mogi probably isn't able to see it.

“Yeah, hello to you too, Mogi.”

“Hi. Are you watching the news?” Mogi repeats, and Matsuda finds he doesn’t quite like the sense of urgency in his tone. It makes him anxious.

“I just turned it on…why?”

“Turn it off.”

“What—?”

“Turn it off. Change the channel. Just…don’t watch it, okay?”

“What are you—?”

You know how, in most stories, the narrator will say, ‘But it was too late’? At the back of his mind, that’s all Matsuda can hear when he glances at his television, unaware how else to process the information displayed on the screen.

_Misa Amane’s death ruled as suicide._

The thing is, he sees it, but he’s not sure he believes it. Assumes it’s some elaborate, cruel prank or a bad dream, or maybe they’d gotten it wrong. He’d just seen Misa a few days ago, and she’d seemed…she’d seemed okay. Better than she had been in a while. She’d smiled and she’d hugged him and she’d said…she’d said she was glad that he was her friend, and he knew that because he remembers that he didn’t deserve that, because he’d shot Light, and it was _his fault_ that he was dead, and—

(And at the back of his mind, he remembers that sudden cheerfulness in someone who had been as depressed as Misa isn’t an ‘all-clear’. He remembers that she exhibited signs that should’ve concerned him. He remembers that he should’ve been better at checking up on her, at finding reasons for her to stay. And in an instant, he has this sickening feeling in his gut that it’s…that it’s his fault. Because he’d told her that Light was dead, and he was her friend, and he’d _shot_ Light, and he hadn’t checked up on her nearly as often as he could and god, _god,_ it’s his fault, _his fault—_ )

“Matsuda…?”

“Yeah…”

A pause.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Silence.

“Matsuda—,”

“I gotta go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up, okay? I—,”

“Yeah. I’ll see you on Monday, Mogi.”

“Matsu—!”

Hazy. That’s how he feels. Like he’s outside in his hometown during the early hours of the morning; surrounded by that eerie, false-calm of a quiet, foggy day, where the fog seems to absorb all the sound and you can hear your heart pounding away in your chest, and you’re afraid that someone could sneak up behind you at any moment, and every sound makes you want to flinch but you’re stuck where you stand and you don’t have the courage to look over your shoulder to see the silhouette creeping up behind you.

And part of him is screaming at himself to move, to blink, to _breathe,_ because it’s _alright,_ because that wasn’t Misa. Misa’s at home and she’s going to call Matsuda and they’re going to talk like they always do and it’s _okay,_ because she’s _alive,_ and she can’t just be _dead._ Misa couldn’t just die. She’s probably the best friend Matsuda has ever had and she can’t just…stop existing like that. Because if she’s gone, then that means that Matsuda failed her, and in failing her, lost his closest confidant. Lost the only woman aside from his own mother that he’d ever felt such an intense, if platonic, affection for. And it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

The other part of him screams _your fault, your fault, YOUR FAULT,_ and tells him to get his shit together. The other part of him vehemently reminds him that he fucked up again, _Matsuda, you idiot, can’t you do anything right?_ Because if he can’t even take care of his friends, what _can_ he do? _Idiot, idiot, idiot._

Maybe calling her cellphone was a bad idea. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference whether he did or not. But he does it. He doesn’t, and will never, know why he does. Maybe to comfort himself, find some confirmation that the newscasters had gotten wrong, or maybe to confirm his worst fears, or maybe even a deeper part of himself wants to hear her voice, even if it’s just her voicemail. But that alone can’t explain why he leaves messages. That alone wouldn’t explain why he demands she call him back with increasing urgency. 

He’s halfway to redialling her number for the tenth time when it finally _does_ hit him that, yes…she is, in fact, dead.

He feels something shatter, in that moment. 

Seconds before the tears started to pool in his eyes, he’d heard Aizawa’s voice, had heard what the senior officer had told him when he had felt so awful about telling Misa about what happened at the warehouse.

_She was bound to find out eventually._

Maybe Mogi would be feeling the same way, right about now, even if he wasn’t the one Matsuda had heard it from. Maybe later, he’ll be broken up about it, the same way Matsuda had been, and Aizawa would say the same thing. _He was bound to find out eventually._

And that is Matsuda’s final coherent thought.

Later, he’ll come back to himself, and find himself under the covers of his own bed. Later, he’ll come back to himself and see Mogi sitting at the edge of the bed and wonder, vaguely, how he’d gotten inside. Later, he’ll nurse a splitting headache and a sore throat and wonder what caused them, unaware that he’d screamed nonsense and smacked his palms against his head for an incalculable time. Later, he’ll find his apartment cleaned but something will feel…off about it, like he hadn’t been the one to do it, and he’ll find out from a hesitant Mogi, that he’d trashed his own place during his fit. Later, he’ll have to coax the cats out of their hiding place with the promise of treats, and he’ll halfheartedly apologize for frightening them.

And later…he’ll come to learn precisely what happened to Misa. 

(From that moment on, he hates Valentine’s Day with everything he is.)

* * *

**_2021_ **

The years pass by in a blur. More supposed “Kiras” and a Notebook sold to the United States government by God only knows who. Sometimes, Mogi doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. About the conclusion of the Kira case or the knowledge that someone could write a human’s name in a magic Notebook and that human will die of a heart attack. Or any cause, really. He spent…more than five years on the Kira case. First working under L, and then working under Kira himself, and it’s dizzying, to tell the truth.

(Sometimes, privately, he maintains that he doesn’t… particularly like thinking of Light as Kira. Matsuda had been very verbal about his distaste for addressing Light as such, but that was expected out of Matsuda, wasn’t it? He’d considered Light a friend.)

For several of those years, Mogi remembers, with a sharp pang of…dare he say fondness? Being manager to pop idol Misa-Misa. Light Yagami’s longtime girlfriend. His fiancée. Except that fondness…doesn’t last long. It never does. Because as soon as he allows himself a small, warm smile at the thought of the vivacious young woman, he remembers that she’s been dead for years, now. Seven years today, in fact. 

Mogi was never fond of Valentine’s Day to begin with. Had thought the holiday trivial, a waste of time, to be honest. He’d never been fond of flowers or chocolate, and for that matter, had never exactly…been in a relationship, either. Hadn’t had the time or the interest, and, as a detective, he knew it’d be difficult to give anyone the attention they needed.

(A couple years ago, after a frank and, admittedly confusing conversation with Matsuda, Mogi had discovered that he is both demiromantic and demisexual. Good to know, right? And…for reasons Mogi doesn’t wish to discuss, it makes sense. It does.)

The thing is…now, he feels awful on Valentine’s Day. For so, so many reasons.

For starters, he knew Matsuda blamed himself for Light’s death, he _knew_ that. Even after the coroner’s report came back and ruled the young Yagami’s death a heart attack, Matsuda never fully recovered from his own actions at Yellow Box that day. Mogi _knew_ that Matsuda has always had…issues with irrational guilt, that he’d no doubt blame himself for a decision that Misa made. He would say that he should’ve been more attentive, should’ve been a better friend, and he does say those things. Maybe not verbally, but every year, as February 14th approaches, it’s written all over his face, spoken by those kicked puppy eyes. Mogi also knows that his younger coworker tries so hard to hide it, but, well…if you didn’t know that Misa Amane and Touta Matsuda were all but platonic soulmates, then Mogi would like to ask you what it’s like to be so unobservant that even Matsuda himself would call you an idiot. 

And, see, Mogi knew all those things. And every day, he can’t help but wonder—would Matsuda had even paid attention to the newscast that day if Mogi hadn’t called him to tell him _not_ to watch it? Maybe he would’ve turned the television on to clean his apartment and it would’ve faded away into background noise, or he would've changed the channel. Maybe someone else could’ve told him, gently. As Aizawa and Ide would doubtless say, he was bound to find out eventually. But not like that. Never like that.

Valentine’s Day leaves a sour taste in Mogi’s mouth now, because he remembers how excited Misa used to get for it. Every year, dragging Mogi in and out of shops, she’d point out things she could purchase for Light, and ask Mogi’s opinion on every single one of them. She’d ask what she could do for him—Light, that is—and, do you think he’d enjoy a picnic, Motchi? And Mogi would reply, fondly, that he didn’t know, really. Misa would pout for a moment, and then smile widely and say something like ‘ _You’re right! I should know him better than anyone, shouldn’t I?’,_ and Mogi would wonder, very briefly, what it must be like to have someone so loving, so open with their affection, to be devoted to you. With a stab of irritation, he’d realize that Light Yagami did not appreciate Misa Amane the way she deserved to be appreciated, and he never really understood just why that stung.

And…truth be told…he misses her. Especially on this holiday, this…reminder that she’s no longer with them. Valentine’s Day took Misa away from them all, forever. It was her decision, yes, and Mogi isn’t sure if anyone would’ve been able to stop her, because once Misa-Misa made up her mind, she stuck to it. She was stubborn like that. Stubborn and…beautiful and effervescent, and sometimes—sometimes it’s hard to believe that she isn’t around anymore. Sometimes the idea that she could be gone seems so impossible that he almost believes she isn’t. In the mornings as he wakes up to an early alarm, he catches himself thinking that he has to bring Misa to a shoot today, or that he has to help her prepare for an audition. As wakefulness sets in, so does the truth, and sometimes, just sometimes, it makes Mogi want to cry a little. Because it’s unfair, isn’t it? It’s so fucking _unfair._

(Life isn’t fair. He knows that. Mogi isn’t some errant child that will cry and scream and beg because he didn’t get his way. But sometimes he’d like to. Sometimes he’d like to lose his mind and get away with it, just once.)

He’s not sure what started this little…”tradition”, if you could call it that. It’s a bit grim to call it a tradition, he thinks, but, it’s something he does every year on the same day, and he’s not sure he’ll ever, y’know, Not Do It. It’s cheesy, probably entirely too familiar for having just been the woman’s manager, but every year, he purchases a single rose, and leaves it on her grave. Maybe it’s sappy. Maybe he doesn’t care.

( _“You know, Motchi…sometimes I wish Light would be a little more romantic, y’know? Even if it was something simple…like, greeting me by the door with a kiss, or…even just giving me a single rose. It’d be nice.”_

Mogi didn’t even know if she knew she said that, staring dreamily at a stall selling flowers. He pretended he didn’t hear, but it stuck with him. It still does.)

He probably should’ve guessed that someone else would be there.

It’s typical of Matsuda. Sometimes, Mogi thinks the younger spends more time at the graveyard than he does anywhere else outside of work. So many to mourn, so little time. Mogi should have known that Matsuda would be here today. Actually, come to think of it, it’s funny that they haven’t run into each other, yet. Someone had to leave those carnations every year. 

Despite the fact that the snow crunches under Mogi’s shoes, Matsuda doesn’t seem to notice him. Doesn’t seem to notice the cold, either, kneeling as he is. In the silence, the false-tranquility of a cemetery in the snow, Mogi can see just how _tired_ his coworker is. Can see the sag in his shoulders, can see how low his head hangs. It’s a private, intimate moment, and suddenly, Mogi feels as if he’s intruding. Everyone knows that Misa was Matsuda’s best friend, yes, but nobody deserves to be gawked at while they grieve. 

He’s about to turn around and leave, to let Matsuda mourn in peace, when the latter notices him. Not much changes about his demeanor, but he does offer a smile. Small and weak though it may be. He looks a bit like he wants to cry, but maybe…maybe, like Mogi, Matsuda’s tears dried up years ago and only left an empty ache behind.

It’s anyone’s guess.

“Hey, Mogi…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

It’s weird, the sudden embarrassment Mogi feels. He’s tempted to hold the rose behind his back. He doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way. Let you have some privacy.”

…and y’know what else is weird? The feeling that he doesn’t exactly want to be alone, either. 

It’s been seven years.

Why does it still hurt this much?

“No, you uh…you don’t have to leave. If you don’t want to. You don’t have to stay, either. Just…”

Matsuda pauses then, and his smile becomes simultaneously brighter and sadder. Funny how that works. Maybe only someone like Matsuda can pull it off.

“Alright.”

He stays.

They stand in silence for what seems like ages. Mogi places the rose on the grave and they go on saying nothing. It’s strange, because usually silences with Matsuda are awkward and somewhat tense, like you can hear the wheels turning in his head, feel him grasp for something to say. But this isn’t awkward or tense. Somber, maybe. Not entirely comfortable but close. It’s not nice, because when has standing in a cemetery in front of the headstone for the woman you both adored ever been nice? But it’s not horrible, either. Mogi is simultaneously comforted by the presence of another and aware that he, too, is offering comfort. In his own stoic way of doing so. 

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

Being so wrapped up in his own thoughts, Mogi almost flinched at Matsuda’s sudden proclamation. And it’s one that Mogi doesn’t care for, not really. It’s entirely too familiar, feels entirely too much like he’s being accused of something he shouldn’t have done. But as he looks over, Matsuda is smiling that sad, sad smile, and cocking an eyebrow.

“It’s not an accusation, Mogi,” he assures. “Just an observation.”

(Of all things for Matsuda to be observant of, it had to be _that._ )

“You loved her too,” Mogi responds, eventually. Deflectively. 

“Yeah, but not in the same way,” Matsuda counters. “I loved her like a sister. You were _in love_ with her. And I don’t blame you. She was easy to fall in love with.”

That she was.

But Mogi doesn’t like to think about that. It’s true, he would’ve given her everything she asked for with no questions. One year, near Christmas, she sat him down to watch an old American movie, _It’s a Wonderful Life._ She loved Christmas—not only because it was her birthday, but she loved everything to do with it. In the movie, the main character had said something to the tune of _Do you want the moon? I’ll give you the moon. Throw a lasso around it and pull it down._ Mogi, sitting with Misa and aware that Light was not the sort of person that would make Christmas/Misa’s birthday special for her, had been tempted to ask,

_‘Do you, Misa? Do you want the moon?’_

It’s dumb. It’s childish and stupid. But he would’ve. He would’ve lassoed the moon for her. Misa had this way about her that predisposed you to supporting her every endeavor. A smile that would make the sun jealous, an air about her that reminded you of picnics and childhood summers spent soaking in the heat and swimming in cool waters. Misa Amane was…god, she was special. There’s no other way to put it.

She was everything.

So, yes. Mogi was in love with her. Painfully and irrevocably in love with her. Hidden beneath a mask of stoicism that he kept tightly in place, Mogi yearned to be the one that she looked at with such…adoration. Envy had made him hate Light Yagami, but only sometimes. But Mogi was aware, all the time, that Light didn’t deserve Misa Amane. That he took her entirely too much for granted, that she deserved someone that loved her, truly loved her, and didn’t use her for their own selfish purposes. She deserved to be treated with kindness and respect, _fuck,_ she deserved to be treated like a _queen,_ and at the back of his mind, there had always been this other, half-crazed thought reserved for drunkenness or half-wakefulness: that she was a goddess on Earth. 

(Mogi isn’t a romantic. But he would’ve been, just for her.)

But something still feels wrong about the statement. That he loved her. Past tense. Because this feeling has never gone away, and Mogi isn’t sure it ever will. It hurts too much, and it always has, and the pain has never once subsided. He wishes it has. Wishes it was a dull ache of simple regret. But it’s so, so much more than that, isn’t it? Because he still loves her. Every day, he still loves her, and although the pain is easier to manage now, the act of having thrown himself into work to forget about everything acting as a powerful analgesic, it’s still there. It’s there when he goes home to an empty apartment. It’s still there every time he stumbles across an old article about Misa Amane and realizes that the world has forgotten about her existence. She’s a Wikipedia page, a google profile, and that’s all that’s left of her, aside from where she resides in Mogi’s heart—and Matsuda’s, for that matter.

(It really isn’t fair, is it? Sometimes he wishes she’d leave a vacancy for someone new. But she’s never been one to give up so easily. She’ll always take up space, and she’ll never leave, because Misa was stubborn and Misa inserted herself wherever she could, but she was _real,_ and Mogi wishes she still were.)

Into the silence, Mogi murmurs,

“I still do.”

Matsuda knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and he sounds awfully hoarse. “Yeah, me too.”

It’s starting to snow again. Mogi almost wishes his unlikely companion to make a joke. Make it feel normal, for a little while. He doesn’t. Instead, he sighs a shuddering sigh, and says,

“For what it’s worth, Mogi, I think…I think you would’ve been good for her.”

The unspoken, _‘Better than Light ever was’_ hangs in the air. And Mogi sighs a tired sigh, and he crosses his arms, and confesses, so quiet you’d have to strain to hear,

“I would’ve given her the world.”

And he knows Matsuda would have, too.

**Author's Note:**

> in conclusion, bitch i'm crying.
> 
> anyway i hope you didn't hate that. because it's fine. it's all oKAY BECAUSE MISA IS STILL ALIVE AND SHE AND MATSUDA ARE STILL BEST FRIENDS AND THEY GO ON PLATONIC DATES ALL THE TIME AND MOGI JOINS THEM FOR ADVENTURES SO IT'S FINE *sobs*
> 
> anyway bye now i'm gonna go cry :')


End file.
